


Honesty

by ariadne_rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14275146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_rose/pseuds/ariadne_rose
Summary: One-shot of a time travel AU I might continue. Master of Death and Horcrux Fem!Harry has fallen through time to find herself in war-torn, 1940s Britain. Grindelwald wants her, Tom Riddle covets her, and Dumbledore is batshit scared of her. This is a confrontation between Harry and young Voldemort after a battle. TW: Involves Veritaserum, manipulation, torture, and some non-con elements.





	Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely obsessed with all of the fanfic nocturnememory writes, and I'm currently suffering from some serious withdrawals from her Ichor series. This is an attempt to fill that void in my soul - my take on the fem!Harry Harrymort ship, which may now just be my most sinful otp.

Looking at him now, safe from the battle he had plucked her from, Harry decided that Tom Riddle was more beautiful than she had remembered from the Diary Horcrux of her Second Year. Slightly older than his shade had been when she first met him, he was shaped as though carved from marble, all strong lines and balanced features. She watched him warily from her place across the clearing, painfully aware of her wand in his hand. 

“Why did you come for me, Riddle?” She spat, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly. 

He didn’t answer, just crooked a finger lazily at a log nearby, and smirked as it burst violently into flame. 

“I will never tire of that,” he mused, meeting her eyes for the first time and sliding gracefully into a conjured chair by the fire. Around him, the snow had eased to a faint drizzle that misted the air and frosted his eyelashes. Harry watched him sit staring into the fire for a long time, anxiety coiling and uncoiling in her chest. Finally, he looked up at her, rolling her wand between his fingers. 

“I want to know why you don’t trust me,” He began, hesitating, and the schoolboy mask was now firmly back in place. “Harry, you’ve never truly been honest with me, have you?”

She glared at him, “Don’t call me that.” Her name in his mouth sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t owe you anything, Riddle, least of all honesty.”

He inclined his head. “Perhaps,” his lips twitched as he considered her. “But I want you to be honest with me now. And I don’t think I have to tell you why it’s in your best interests to _behave_.” 

In the fading light, his aristocratic profile had sharpened into something like that skeletal, ruined form of Harry’s past. _Prophecies,_ she thought. 

“I’m not scared of you, Tom Riddle.” Harry said, “I’ve survived worse than anything you could do to me.” 

Tom’s magic flickered around him for a bare moment, darkness like void catching behind the glow of the fire. He could have been amused or he could have been murderous, for all she could read him now. 

“If I am to protect you, I need to know why Grindelwald wants you, really.” His tone hadn’t changed; still thoughtful, measured in a way that reminded Harry more than a little of Dumbledore. And yet, there was a tension in the air that was building with every moment that passed. The snow had long since stopped, and the temperature of the little clearing was slowly rising, melting the ice around them in a perfect ring. 

“I don’t want your protection,” Harry snapped, and squared her shoulders. “and besides - I’ve told you. I don’t know why he wants me.”

The boy _grinned,_ all teeth. 

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed. “I know a snake when I see one, my love.” 

He still hadn’t moved from his spot by the fire, though by now the air was crackling with magic between them. The smell of ozone and burning hair stung Harry’s nostrils, and she took another step back from the roaring fire. 

“Don’t call me that, either,” she croaked, mouth suddenly very dry. “I’m not your _anything.”_

“Oh,” said Voldemort, still unmoved. “I very much disagree. You’re all mine, Harry. Every part of you belongs to me and only me.”

Harry swallowed, clenching her empty wand hand reflexively. “You’re wrong.” 

His eyes flickered to her bandaged arm, no doubt recalling the symbol of the Deathly Hallows branded there. For the first time, the mask cracked a little, and Harry flinched at the pure rage she saw behind his eyes. 

“I will kill _anyone_ who dares to lay a _finger_ on you,” Tom growled, surging to his feet. The fire roared between both of them, spilling out and over the wet ground between them. Tom strode directly through it, untouched, towards her, feeding the flames with every step. She staggered backwards, tripping over a log and scrambling still to get away.  
“Do you understand me?” He breathed. _“Did you think I didn’t recognise you for what you are? You impossible child. I marked you first. You are a vessel, made for me and only me and given to me alone by magic.”_

Harry tore herself out of his grasp and ran, the scar on her forehead burning wildly. She wound her way through the woods to a clearing, desperately trying to clear her mind and summon the strength for wandless apparition. Tom’s footfalls were heavy behind her; she could hear his heavy breathing as he sprinted after her. Not _Tom,_ she berated herself. _Voldemort._ It had been too easy to separate the two, and forget. Riddle was charming, and Voldemort had been a monster left behind her, fifty years in the future. 

The deafening crack of apparition echoed out across the forest and Tom’s face, white and _furious_ , loomed up before her. Harry shrieked and fell back, scrambling behind a fallen log. 

“ _My impossible Horcrux_ ,” the words slipped around them both in sibilant parseltongue. “ _I had hoped you would be honest with me, and without prompting. But perhaps you need incentive_.” 

_CRUCIO._ Pain, all-consuming, swept through from her chest, just as shocking as that first time he had cast it on her in the graveyard, bleeding out into her bones and shredding her nerve endings. Her skin was being peeled back and burned; Tom was slicing into muscle and sinew, unmaking her. And then it stopped, and he was tipping a bottle up against her lips, tasteless droplets sliding down her ravaged throat. 

“Who are you?” He breathed, his forehead pressed to hers. Harry’s tears leaked down her face and dripped onto the hand wrapped around her throat. He was inescapable, and his words were like compulsion.  
“Angharad Iolanthe Potter,” her name emerged from a cracked part of her chest, unbidden and half unconscious. Was it even her voice that answered? An empty taste like moonlight lingered at the back of her throat.

“Have you drugged me, Tom?” she gasped, still helplessly caged in his arms. He smiled sadly, and pressed his lips against her forehead.  
“My precious flower,” he said. “You left me no choice. No choice at all.”

“We always have choices, Tom,” she panted, tremors racking her body. Voldemort leaned back a little, shifting her in his lap to look directly into her eyes.

“Why does Grindelwald want you?”

“I…” That dangerous truth was lodged in her throat. “I know things,” she said. “Things that he would kill to know.”  
“What, exactly, do you know?”

She struggled against his impossibly tight embrace, breathing heavily. “I know about Grindelwald’s plans, his desires, his past and his defeat. I know when he was born and when he will die, and I know about what he has done and what he will do, I know about the muggle World War because … because I read about it in… in a book written by… ” She felt as though she might be sick, and closed her eyes to shut out the spinning stars overhead. She was talking faster and faster, trying to keep the vertigo at bay with the sound of her own voice.

“I know things about Albus Dumbledore that would shock you, enough even to terrify him. To ruin him. I know the days that you will die, Tom Marvelo Riddle,” She said, nodding madly, “And I know the monster you will become.”

A dark look came over him. “Impossible.”

She met his eyes. “It is inevitable. Split seven times, Tom? What do you expect will happen?”

He shivered against her, and yet he remained unreadable as she continued, the words like a foretelling.  
“I know that you will live again.” And he _laughed,_ the sound like relief and madness all in one.

“A monstrous Christ.” He was ablaze with the thought of it, pressing her closer and closer against him until he was all she could feel. 

“Yes.” Harry was shaking violently now. “ _Monstrous.”_

_“Are you a seer?”_ He asked, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if to unhinge and devour her. She laughed madly. 

“Perhaps,” She said, shaking violently. “To you, I must be.” 

“That is no answer. How could you know-”

“I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. I’ve dreamed of you since I was a little girl.” None of it was a lie, not really, and for a moment, Harry wasn’t sure if the effort to subvert the Veritaserum she had lost her sanity. 

“Why do you bear Grindelwald’s mark?” He pressed. And oh, he was so close to knowing things that would doom them all.  
“It’s..” she bit her lip until the taste of blood chased away the emptiness lingering on her tongue. It wasn’t enough. “I don’t. It’s not his mark.”

“Whose mark is it? Who marked you, Harry?” 

“I — you marked me once,” She rasped. “Or you will mark me, one day. It’s hard to—”

She gasped, cut off by a sharp slap to the face. Tom’s eyes were flashing as he grabbed her limp, bandaged arm and tore away the fabric covering the brand there. 

“ _This,”_ He hissed. “I want to know who did _this. What does this mean?”_

“I—” she swallowed reflexively, the burning in her cheek helping to clear the rapidly fading fog of potion from her thoughts.

“I am marked for Death,” she whispered. Because wasn’t that true enough? 

“I will never let you die,” Tom growled. And in his anger, Harry thought he looked very much like a young boy. “Surely you have to know that by now, Harry,” he said. And _neither can live,_ she thought. _While the other survives._


End file.
